by Jade Lee
The evening’s agenda was set. She was to have a marvelous time, and he was to do what he always did at these affairs. He danced where he ought, discussed where he needed to, and watched the clock for the minute he would be able to escape the ladies in favor of the more serious-minded work of running the country. Except this time, instead of watching the clock, he watched her.
It was a pleasure to lead her out for her first set, to feel her fingers grip his, and to see how easily her body moved through the dance steps. But then the dance was over, and he had to watch while another man drew her to the floor, looked into her bright eyes, and spoke of whatever nonsense had her smiling. And then another and another.
He watched with growing impatience until the first waltz, which was hard to do given that he was attending to his mother and sister, not to mention all the hopeful ladies who had his name on their dance cards.
“What has you scowling so fiercely?” his sister chided. “Is it that law for the soldiers?”
“Yes,” he lied. “I have had a setback.”
“Does it have anything to do with the mysterious Miss Gohar?” she asked. “You seem to be frowning at her quite often.”
Had he? At her dancing partners, more like, but he couldn’t say that to his sister. She would start to get all sorts of errant thoughts. “She is not the cause of the problem,” he said honestly, “but the solution, I hope.” He all but growled as a young heir to a worthless title bowed over her hand. The idiot would eventually have a vote in the House of Lords, so it was useful to be polite to him, but that didn’t mean the twit should slobber all over Amber’s hand as he bent to kiss it.
“Then, I hope you will remember that we are at a ball, and you are to make merry, not make morbid.”
It took him a moment to hear what his sister said. And then he turned to her with a frown. “What?”
She rolled her eyes. “Come now. I haven’t seen you this grumpy since Gwen threw your first speech into the fire.”
“She called it ludicrous!”
“No, she called you ludicrous. She called your speech twaddle.”
Sadly, Gwen had been absolutely right. In fact, her destruction had saved him from making a fool of himself before the House of Lords. “Gwen was being mean,” he finally said.
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re scowling now. And look, now you’ve forgotten you’re supposed to partner with Miss Cork.”
“What? Damn.” His sister was correct, and there was poor Miss Cork staring at him as if he’d just murdered her dog.
Bowing his goodbye to his sister, he hurried over to the neglected lady and tried to make up for his mistake. He did a poor job of it, and while he tried to tease her into forgiving him, his gaze kept wandering back to Amber.
She did look lovely in that gown, but it was the lion in her hair that drew the eye. Unless, of course, one wished to look at her face. At the sweet curve of her cheek or the impish shape of her nose. Was that her laugh, dancing above the notes of the orchestra? Or had he completely lost his mind? What was he doing thinking such things of a tradeswoman who was simply a means to getting his resolution passed? Albeit a fascinating tradeswoman with a laugh that made his heart lighter at the sound.
He resolved to think no more of her but failed completely at that. And then finally it was time for their waltz. He should have claimed all her waltzes, but that would have set tongues to wagging. He had to be content with this one dance when he could pull her into his arms. She stood stiff at first, and she bit her lower lip as if she were nervous. But then he squeezed her hand, and her gaze shot up to his.
“My lord?”
“Do you know why I love the waltz?”
She shook her head. “I only learned it a few hours ago.”
He smiled. The orchestra was starting. “It’s because I can do this.” He tightened his grip, and he started moving them around the dance floor.
It took her a moment to settle in. Dancing required strength—of which she had a great deal—and trust—which he had to seduce her into giving him. He did that by smiling at her, by getting lost in the light in her eyes, and by knowing he was the perfect guide in this. He knew how to hold her, how to match his steps to hers, and how to time even his breath so that they flowed together.
It was exhilarating. Not just the dance, but the way she slowly surrendered to him. By the end, her head was tilted slightly back, her hips were nearly touching his, and they moved like they were flying.
Then the music ended, and they slowed to a stop. He held her still, looking down at her. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips parted to release an ecstatic sigh. She would look this way after lovemaking, he realized. Only she’d be naked, and he would be seated inside her.
The idea made his body tighten with hunger as lust surged through his blood. But he didn’t act on it. He didn’t even move. He just stared at her and yearned for something more. He wanted her.
He could seduce her. There were ways. She wasn’t a gentlewoman, and the consequences for him would be minor despite the threat from all those protectors of hers. She would keep it secret from them if she enjoyed it. If she wanted it as much as he wanted her. Plus, he could make it worth her while financially. But the idea was heinous, and he was ashamed of himself for even thinking it. And yet, she stood there like temptation incarnate, and he was not at all sure he would refuse.
The couples broke apart, and a new set was forming. He had another dance partner, as did she. He released her hand and waist, but he didn’t step back. He couldn’t force his feet to move. Not until he was jostled aside by her next partner and nearly fell sideways into his own.
It took an act of will for him to drag his mind away from her and focus on the woman before him. And then he had to keep doing that as Amber danced the night away. She even had a different partner for the midnight buffet. In the end, he had to remove himself from the situation entirely. He stepped into the card room, and though he didn’t play, he listened to the gossip and tried to drum up support for his resolution.
It didn’t work. He couldn’t focus. So, he went back out into the ballroom and danced with every wallflower there plus a few of the matrons. Every girl who was not the one he wanted, until finally, blessedly, the evening was done.
He gathered Amber from her last dance partner and set her arm upon his forearm as if he were tethering her to him. “Did you have a good evening?” he asked.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Though you were right. My feet hurt abominably.”
“It takes endurance to dance all night.”
She nodded. “But I don’t want it to end.”
Neither did he, though he could wish that they occupied themselves in other ways than here. More private, personal ways.
“Where is your sister and mother?” she asked.
“They left hours ago. Diana to see how her husband fares, and Mother to a different ball.”
“There was another?” she asked.
“Scores. Mum usually goes to three in an evening.”
“Three?” she gasped as she pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks. “I can’t imagine that many in one night. One was more than enough.”
One woman could be enough if it were her in his bed. Tonight. Every night. The lust was pounding in his blood as he gestured to the front door where a footman waited with her cloak. “I’m to escort you home.”
“You? Alone?” She frowned. “Is that proper?”
Of course not. Especially since he was thinking of all the things to do to her in a closed carriage. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She smiled at him and shook her head. “I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway.” She lowered her voice and giggled. “I’m not a respectable woman.”
He smiled as she drew on her cloak, hearing her laughter echo in his thoughts. “How much champagne did you drink?”
“None. I was too busy dancing. Every set, every waltz, every moment, just like you promised.”
He had. And she ha
d. And now he wanted her alone in his carriage, so they could do so much more. “This way,” he said as he held out his arm.
She willingly took it, and for all that she claimed her feet hurt, she was half dancing down the walk to his waiting carriage.
“This was the best night of my life,” she breathed. “Thank you for this. I know it wasn’t meant as a treat for me, but I loved it.”
“Of course, it was meant as a treat,” he said. “Do you think I wait until nearly three of the clock for everyone? It was for you,” he said against her ear. Then he helped her inside the dark carriage. He sat beside her and repeated it. “It was all for you.”
He heard her gasp as the door shut behind him. He felt her leg tremble slightly against his as his coachman clucked to the horses. And then he felt her breath, high and tight, as she whispered into the dark.
“My lord?”
“Call me Elliott.”
“I can’t! That wouldn’t be—”
“Just now. Here while we’re alone.”
Silence.
“Elliot.”
Never had his name sounded sweeter.
“I want to kiss you,” he said to the darkness. “If I promise not to touch anything more than your face, will you allow it?”
He heard her breath catch, and then he heard her soft exhale.
“Do you promise?”
Did he? Could he kiss her lips and not touch her breasts, her thighs, her sweet honey?
“Yes,” he said. “Unless you ask for more.”
She gasped at his tease, and he was quick to reassure her.
“You are in control, Amber. Tonight is for anything you want.” But the devil in him made him push her a bit more. “In fact, I give you leave to touch me any way you wish.”
“I won’t,” she said. “I don’t know how.”
That was a declaration of innocence if ever he’d heard one. She might work nightly in an infamous gaming den, but she was still pure. That made him want her even more.
“One kiss then,” he said. He reached out to caress her cheek and stroke his thumb down the long column of her neck.
“Or two,” she whispered. “I might like two.”
He grinned. “Two, then.”
Then he took so much more.
Chapter Nine
Amber had kissed several men over her twenty-five years. Several meaning exactly seven, not counting her relatives. The upstairs ladies had been very forthcoming about exactly what was involved in sex. And they had explained what was good and not good in hilarious terms. So, every year on her birthday starting at the age of eighteen, the ladies had arranged for her to kiss a gentleman they described as one of the best.
Her conclusion after all that vast experience? She found kissing to be either too wet or too much mashing of teeth together.
Not true with Elliott. Perhaps it was because he didn’t go straight to the kiss. He lingered in the dark, exploring her face with his fingertips, touching every inch of her cheeks, jaw, and even the slope of her nose. It made her giggle, and when she did, he released a sigh of delight.
“There it is. Like happiness wrapped up in sound,” he whispered. Then he pressed his lips so close to her ear that she felt the heat of his breath. “Do it again,” he urged.
“I can’t giggle on command,” she whispered back.
“Are you sure?” His finger traced down her nose once again.
She giggled at the feel. She giggled at the silliness of it all. And most of all, she laughed because he wanted her to. And as she relaxed, her head back, and he shifted until his mouth teased hers. Just at the edge of her lips, and he rubbed back and forth across hers.
No one had done that before, and her mouth felt like it was swelling with the sensation. Then he surprised her by licking her top lip. A quick dart of his tongue and she gasped, her entire body tightening with excitement. She wanted to wait to see what he would do next, but every part of her was straining forward. If this was the prelude, what would the kiss be like?
Unable to wait a moment longer, she echoed his movement, licking his upper lip, and while he smiled in reaction, she pressed her mouth to his. His lips were lush, his mouth firm, and his tongue teased against hers, following when she retreated.
Then he took over. He filled her mouth, dueling with her, brushing against teeth and the roof of her mouth. She fell back against the squabs, letting him press against her. He was a large man, certainly compared to her, and she felt him everywhere and yet not close enough. Her hands had been by her sides, but now she gripped his arms as she clutched him tighter.
It went on for a glorious age, but eventually, she broke away as she gasped for breath. What an experience! And while she knew it was wrong, she ached for him to do it again and so much more. Her breasts felt heavy, her body hot with desire. She knew the stages of arousal in general terms. Suddenly, she felt them quite specifically. The tight pull of her nipples, the heaviness in her belly, and the wetness between her thighs. The upstairs girls hadn’t said how delicious it felt.
“One,” he rasped against her ear.
One what? Oh! One kiss. And she’d allowed him two, so there was more.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He smiled. She could feel the curve of his mouth against her ear. “Have you ever been kissed before?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“On your mouth?”
“Yes.”
“Anywhere else?”
She swallowed. “No.”
“Would you like to experience it?”
Yes! A thousand times, yes! But she couldn’t say the words aloud. She could only nod.
He pressed his mouth to the bare flesh just below her ear. She felt the rough brush of his jaw against the curve of her neck.
“Has anyone ever kissed your breasts? Have you ever felt the quickening inside your belly?”
“No,” she said again.
“I can show you. I can do it, and you shall remain a virgin. But you will know—”
“Yes!” she gasped. She had heard of such things from the upstairs girls, and she wanted to know.
He moved until he knelt on the carriage floor before her. He tugged her upright enough to unbutton her gown and ease it down her shoulders. Her corset was a short one, tied in front. He pressed his lips to the flesh above her chest, scraping his teeth across the skin before soothing it with his tongue. She felt him loosen the ties, and she took a deep breath that pushed the corset open. He tugged on the ribbons even more until it gaped in front and fell away.
Then his hands were on her breasts, kneading them in a way she had never thought to experience. Not like this. Not with every part of her body lifting with his movements while lightning shot from her nipples through her belly. He pinched her breasts, and she cried out in delight. She was overwhelmed with the sensations, and yet she wanted more and more.
“That is wonderful,” she breathed. Then an imp inside her made her press him. “But it is not kissing.”
“You want the kiss then?” he asked, his voice filling the darkness with a vibration she could almost feel. It teased her, and she ached to grab it, to hold it, and to let it caress every part of her.
“Very much,” she answered.
“As you wish,” he said, his lips barely grazing the flesh of her right breast.
She shivered with need. And then he made it even better as he used his teeth to tug at her nipple. Hot and quick while she lost control of her body. She arched and moaned. She spread her legs so that he could push closer. But he did not press closer. Instead, she felt his hand beneath her skirt, flowing upward over her knee and thigh, and bringing the hem of her skirt with it. Her legs were exposed to him, but in the dark, no one could see. Only feel. And she felt everything.
She might have said something, but she didn’t have the breath. She might have asked, “What are you doing?” She might have said, “Whatever it is, do more. Do it again.” But no words came, because he had moved to the other breast, lav
ing it with his tongue, nipping at her with his teeth. The right breast was wet and cold, another feeling to contrast with the heat of his tongue on the other side.
“Do you like that?” he asked before he flicked his tongue up and down over her nipple.
Yes, yes, yes! Her mind was whirling, but she hadn’t the strength to speak. Not until he paused. Not until his hands and his mouth stilled.
“Don’t stop!” she said. Then she gripped his shoulders. “Please.”
She felt his fingers slide higher between her thighs. He explored where she was wet. He stretched and teased, deep into her intimate flesh while she held her breath. And whenever he stilled, she called out to him.
“Please, more.” She wanted to feel this. She wanted to know what this was like. “I have wanted to feel this for so long,” she whispered. “Please show me.”
His fingers delved deeper until they opened her folds. And then he suckled again at her breasts. She was clutching his arm, squeezing her thighs together. But his chest was between her knees now. She was spread open as his fingers worked magic. They touched her, they circled, and they pressed deeper inside.
Nothing had ever been in there before. Certainly not a man with clever motions as he pushed in and out, in and out.
Her belly quivered, and she couldn’t catch her breath.
His mouth left her breasts, and he stretched higher. His thumb was doing something, pressing somewhere that had her hips bucking. Harder. Faster. More! Oh, please, more!
“One last kiss,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she gasped. Anything. Because he had pushed his fingers deep into her while his thumb pressed against that other spot. Then he pulled back before doing it again.
A hard thrust of his hand.
“More,” she pleaded as she arched into his palm.
Again. And again. Fingers rolling and twisting while his thumb—
Pleasure flooded every part of her body. His mouth slammed down on her cry.
Her body burst with waves of delight. Pulse after pulse, rolling outward from his hand.
He held her pinned like that, as she writhed in wonder. He kissed her quick and hard, muffling her sounds. Her hips moved as his hand did. In and out. In and out.
